


Errors in Translation

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: Dedue has long since come to terms with the fact that Dimitri is an impossibility. He is a brave man, an emotional man. He is perfect and flawed.He is missing.As Dedue recovers from injuries sustained while saving the one person he has ever loved, he finds himself refamiliarizing himself with the language of his childhood. There are some… growing pains. Fortunately nothing that can't be fixed.Or: the five times that the people of Duscur misunderstand Dedue's references to Dimitri and the one time they completely understand.





	Errors in Translation

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially thanks to [this](https://michelledixart.tumblr.com/post/187566937848/dimidue-dimidue-dimidue-dimidue) wonderful art and the Discord server. 
> 
> Thanks for enabling me, guys.

One.

Dedue felt like a fish returned to the lake where it was born, travelling there only out of some internal instinct but unfamiliar with the area. This was, after all, his home. This was where he grew up, where he watched his mother and siblings cook and his parents work in the forge and his neighbor tend goats and — 

They were all gone. Dedue had to remind himself of that, even now. They were gone, much like how Dimitri was gone too. The only difference was that maybe, just maybe, Dimitri could still be saved. 

"You need to rest." Kamya did not care about his concerns. She was old enough to have lived through the massacre as an old woman, old enough to still remember much of the time before Duscur was a vassal to others. She considered Dedue yet another in a long, long line of stupid young men rushing off to get hurt doing something stupid. 

She was most likely right, but Dedue didn't have to like that. 

"I need to find his highness," Dedue insisted nonetheless. They had this conversation daily. He was bedridden, though not by choice. His body still ached and, on the rare occasion Kamya allowed him to walk around the village, he could barely move his arms. "He needs me," Dedue added. 

"Whoever this young man is, he would need you alive and unhurt. As you are now, you will only get killed trying to find him." Kamya cracked a toothy grin. "Don't you know there's a war going on? Now sit tight. I'm going to change your bandages. This is going to hurt you more if you keep talking." 

Dedue was many things, especially when it came to Dimitri, but he wasn't stupid or bold enough to complain further. He winced and hissed in pain as his wounds were unwrapped, thick paste of a medicine smeared onto the worst offending areas, and the bandages reapplied. 

Kayma took her time now, as she had every other time. But while Dedue had to remain still — yes, even speaking could throw Kayma's careful hands off — she could speak. 

And she did, though not in a language Dedue had spoken for many years. His familiarity with the Duscur language was… odd. As Kayma sung to him, he was reminded of long winter nights and warm summer festivals and celebrations and funerals. Though he did not recognize her song, he felt it in his bones. 

Sometimes, though, Kayma did not sing. Instead, she would prattle on about village gossip. That was how Dedue knew who was engaged, who was sneaking behind their parents' backs, who was in love and who hated each other. 

She talked a lot about relationships. Dedue wondered what she said about him, a practical stranger who had none.

Continuing in the Duscur language, Kayma said, "I am finished. You should feel a bit of a sting, but it will fade by tonight." Kayma rested a hand on his shoulder, one of the only places that were uninjured. "Keep strong so you can heal for your _alzawj_." 

"My what?" Dedue asked, twisting his tongue in unfamiliar ways. 

"_Alzawj._ And your pronunciation of "what" is off. It should be more of an _ah_ sound than _an_." Kamya stood. "I will send someone to bring you food later. Did you want anything before I left?" 

Dedue shook his head. "Thank you, Kamya. I am indebted to you and your village." 

The corners of her eyes wrinkled with bemusement. "This is your home too, Dedue. We are all people of Duscur. And if it will help reunite one of our own with someone who protected him, then it is the least we can do. Gods willing, you will be back on your feet soon." She left the single-room cottage, door slipping closed with a soft _click._

Two.

"Tell me about the monastery," Armad practically demanded. He was a gruff teenager, gangly limbs and bruised knuckles. Dedue knew that Armad had lost his entire family during the massacre. He had been a child, able to crawl into a log and hide there when the angry mob came after him. His family, not so fortunate.

"What do you wish to know?" 

Armad shrugged. He didn't have to join Dedue on his walk — Kamya was letting him go out on his own now, no longer afraid that he would fall over and injure himself if left alone — but Armad seemed curious. Or was it suspicious? Dedue wasn't sure. 

"What was it like? Is it true that you can learn how to ride a dragon?" Armand asked. He kept his voice low, but Dedue could hear the tension in his words. But why? 

Dedue shook his head. No point in speculating. Duscur culture was much more straightforward than the culture in Faerghus, or anywhere else in Fódlan really. 

"No, they only had wyverns. Dragons are not real." Dedue thought about Sylvain racing Ingrid, thought about how Ashe had screamed the one time Sylvain took him flying. "There were pegasi as well. If you asked, and you were talented enough, you could learn the art of flight, but it is not as glorious as it may seem." 

"But you could go anywhere you want with a wyvern or a pegasi." Armad struggled to pronounce the two Fódlan terms, but Dedue had no idea what the Duscur equivalent would be and he did not ask. Armad seemed to understand him well enough. 

"You could go anywhere as long as you came back by night. It is not easy to care for a large creature or a picky creature by yourself," Dedue corrected. "And the professors would be very upset if you went missing." 

"People go missing all the time. The elders think that they get kidnapped, but I bet that they run away," Armad declared. 

A candle lit in Dedue's head. _Oh. _He looked at Armad, who was still young enough that he didn't have to shave, but old enough that his voice kept cracking, and slowly said, 

"Have you ever left the village?" 

Armad shook his head. A scowl settled over his face as several strands of silver hair fell loose from his ponytail. "The elders won't let me. Our men go and fight and I'm stuck here herding cattle." 

Dedue hummed his acknowledgement. He certainly felt that tension, that unhappy stillness that came from being away from where he was supposed to be. Somewhere, Dimitri needed him. It had been almost eight months since they last saw each other and Dedue could only hope that Dimitri was still safe, that he was still alive. 

"My lord always said that a soldier was more valuable when fighting something he cared for. But while a good soldier will follow his heart, a great one will follow a commander who helps him do this and many other things. Sometimes, the hardest trait for a soldier to learn is patience." 

Armad snorted. "That sounds stupid. A good commander is going to do what his soldiers want." 

"Even if that puts them in danger?" 

"Well, yeah! That's why you're a soldier. To fight! To defeat the enemy!" 

"No, a good soldier fights because they want to protect something. Hatred and anger can be powerful, but there is nothing that will drive you more than a need to protect someone you love." Dedue wondered when he became a teacher. He could remember this same argument happening back during his school days. Felix, Ashe, Ingrid, and Dimitri had all been the most involved but Mercedes was also quite vocal. The professor had allowed them to spend a whole afternoon arguing and then never brought it up again. 

Byleth was most likely dead. Dedue hoped it was quick. 

"You love your lord, don't you?" Armad asked. His voice was… sly? Dedue felt like there was something he wasn't picking up on. 

"He is the best of men. He saved my life and he always has cared for others, even those that he doesn't have to give a second thought. And he has promised that, once he is the king, he will seek to clear Duscur's name." Dedue sighed. "I need to recover quicker. He needs my help. If you excuse me—" He picked up his pace.

"Hey, wait! I still have questions about the outside world!" Armad was short enough that he almost had to run to catch up. He couldn't ask any other questions, cheeks red with exertion. 

Later, his parents thanked Dedue for using up so much of their son's energy. 

Three.

Dedue was assisting in some of the gardening when a messenger ran into the village. He looked up, but the stranger ran by without another glance. He frowned. He spent every day hoping for news of the war. The benefits of being in an isolated village were that none of the fighting got there. The disadvantages were that none of the fighting got there. 

"You look distressed, Dedue. If you need to leave, we are almost done," Reza said. She reminded Dedue of Mercedes. Both because she could be kind and gentle, and also because of her inability to be left alone in a kitchen. She also had some talent in white magic, which was as close as Duscur got to faith magic. 

Dedue shook his head. "I will not abandon you now. If they need me, they will come for me." 

"He's worried about his highness," Maryam teased. 

"Oh, of course — your lordly prince." Reza had a gleam in her eyes that Dedue did not like. 

"His highness is — he — he is very important, yes." Dedue felt a bit deflated. Over the last 14 or so months, his command of the language had grown greatly but even in the Fódlan tongue he was never able to explain what Dimitri meant to him. "He is my prince," he said, as if that could encompass the never ending loyalty that Dedue held for Dimitri. 

"Yes, your prince." Reza kept looking at him with that hard to read expression. "Is he very handsome?" 

Of all the questions that could have been asked, Dedue did not expect that. Especially since Kamya had told him that Reza was sneaking out of her cottage to kiss Sadya at night. But Dedue supposed that he had spoken a great deal about Dimitri's intellectual abilities, so it was natural that someone was curious what he looked like. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Reza and Maryam began to giggle. 

"He's flushed," Maryam said. 

"Is your prince very handsome then?" Reza asked. 

Dedue was saved from trying to explain that Dimitri was the most handsome and noble of men by someone calling his name. 

"Excuse me," Dedue said, no longer feeling all that guilty about leaving the others to finish the weeding. "It seems I am needed." 

He ignored the giggles that followed him as he left the garden.

Four.

The thing that Dedue had quickly realized, quite literally the first few months with the others from Duscur, was that not everyone knew that his highness was literally the future king of Faerghus. This was still holding true even now, several years later.

Now, all but the most grievous of his injuries had been healed and Kamya had finally cleared him for some level of combat training. It was… an interesting experience. 

"Dedue! You fight well, but you fight so stiffly. You act like the axe is just a tool. You need to remember what it is like for it to be part of you, to be an extension of your soul," Majid critiqued. He was a man neither young nor old, but an injury with a horse meant that he was no longer a warrior. He could still assist with training and Dedue had the feeling that Majid treated him as a younger brother. They were about ten years apart, so close enough for siblings but a bit too close for peers. 

Dedue nodded. He adjusted his stance, trying to refamiliarize his body to the weight and heft of the axe. It was a bit embarrassing to use a training axe again — and Armad, now a deft hand with a straight razor, was learning to use a training spear so that was a good indicator of where Dedue was — but it was a start. 

“Okay, again!” Majid shouted. Dedue fell into a good, steady rhythm. Jab, slash, twist, hack, twist, again — his muscles were already aching from the effort, but this felt good. Really good. 

It had been too long. Even though this was just a training axe, it was a weapon. He was a warrior, made to fight and protect his friends, to protect his prince. He didn’t let a single complaint escape his lips, even as Majid pushed the fighters all day. The people of Duscur didn’t used to be a warlike people, not from Dedue’s memories, but now they had to keep themselves safe. 

Technically, they were not supposed to have weapons, but they weren’t supposed to exist either. Dedue, too, was not supposed to be alive. He should have died in the massacre, should have died when he traded his life for Dimitri’s. 

If living meant that he could rejoin his highness one day, then that would make all of the pain and recovery worth it. 

“Okay, I think we are done for the day,” Majid announced as the sun was setting. 

“One more hour,” Armad begged, as if he had not been complaining about having to do more drills just five minutes ago. 

“A good warrior learns when to rest,” Majid chided. “It also is time for dinner and I know that Fatima is cooking goat tonight.” 

Upon learning that his childhood crush — _thanks, Kamya_ — was cooking, Armad decided that it was okay that training was over. 

“Do you require assistance?” Dedue asked Majid, walking over to help put away the training equipment. There were other fighters, but they had their own regime. Dedue and Armad were starting from the first step — _thanks, Kamya_ — so they did their own work. 

“Thank you, Dedue.” Majid was quiet for a moment, the two of them walking over to the tool shed. “Have you heard of any news about your lover?” 

Dedue almost dropped a weight on his foot. “W—What?” 

“Your prince or—” Majid shrugged, “I forget how you call him. Your king? The man you are so eager to return to.”

“His highness,” Dedue slowly said, the word dropping inelegantly out of his mouth, “And I are merely — we are vassal and lord. He is the future king of Faerghus and I am fortunate to protect him.”

“So you want to return to his side out of some noble fealty?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Hm.” Majid paused. “So you are not in love with him?” 

And. And that really was the question, wasn’t it? 

Majid pat Dedue on the back. “I have seen many young men in love and many old men in love. You are not the first.”

Dedue supposed it would be pointless to try to argue. Majid took his silence as acceptance, grinning ear to ear. 

“Do not despair, Dedue. Your king is waiting for you, somewhere out there, and one day you will rescue him and sweep him off his feet.” Majid started to laugh, a large flush spreading from ear to ear on Dedue’s face. “He would have to be a fool not to return your feelings. After all, you are a strong, tough man of Duscur, and everyone knows that the men of Duscur are the most desirable—”

Majid’s laughter followed Dedue all the way to dinner. 

Five.

“Dedue, I am proud to say that you have fully healed,” Kamya declared. A thankful grin broke out over Dedue’s face. “You will still bear the scars for the rest of your life, but you are fine to begin a training regime with the rest of the fighters.”

“Thank you, Kamya. I would not have been able to live, let alone recover this much, without your assistance.” Dedue stood from the bed. He towered above Kamya — he was always tall but the last few years had been the most egregious in terms of growth. Thankfully he could contribute to the village or else he could have eaten them out of all their stores. “I may travel now, yes? As soon as I hear any news of his highness…” 

Kamya snorted. “I help heal you for almost four years and the first thing you ask is about your partner — and the water chases the moon.”

“Forgive me, I do not want to seem ungrateful—”

“No, no, I am used to it. But you must promise me that you will bring your partner here when you reunite with him.” Kamya walked around the cottage, packing away her supplies into the correct cabinets. She was slower than she used to be, but even without that observation Dedue would have come to her assistance. 

He mulled over her request for some time, almost until they were done, before asking, in the Fódlan tongue, 

“You use the word _alzawj_ instead of _sharik_. Is there a difference between the two?” It was a bit frustrating that, even years later, Dedue encountered such difficulty with the language he was raised with. There was just such a great amount of detail and many words that he did not encounter every day. 

“Hm, yes, there is a great difference. I have been meaning to tell you that you are using the wrong term.” 

“Oh.” Dedue felt flushed. Surely someone could have pointed out his mistake before now? Hopefully it was so minor that no one else had noticed— 

“The word you use, _sharik_, it — the closest translation would be fiance.” Kamya was blessedly silent as Dedue fell into a blustering, stammering wreck. 

That — it was no wonder, now, why the entire village thought he and Dimitri were together as more than loyal servant and lord. They must have thought him very shy or quite personal, what with his vervent denials of even the slightest hint of romance between the two of them. Dedue made a mental note to apologize to poor Reza, who no doubt questioned whether Dedue even wished to be her friend, what with how he refused to speak with her about Diwitri thanks to her incessant teasing —

“You want to use the word _alzawj_ since it means your partner,” Kamya explained. 

“What kind of partner?” Dedue aked, intent on eliminating any and all confusion. He still could not believe he had accidentally convinced the entire village that he and Dimitri — Gods, Dedue could only pray that Dimitri never found out about this. 

“Well, the one you swear yourself to for the entirety of your life. Someone you care for more than you care for yourself.” Kamya paused. “I think the closest word in Fódlan would be your soulmate.”

Dedue’s face burned. Maybe he would start by trying to explain to Kamya… 

Switching back to the Duscur language, Dedue made yet another attempt to distinguish what his relationship with Dimitri really was. “Dimitri is my lord, my prince. He is not — love is not the term we would use, not the way a husband and wife would—”

“Of course it would be different than a man and a woman. You are both men! Do not fret, our language is able to make that difference known. As we say, there is a difference between the love parents have for their children and the love they have for their goats. You would not eat your child and you would not kiss your goats!” Kamya seemed to find her joke very funny, but Dedue was more concerned that he was accidentally besmirching Dimitri’s name.

_Goddess, please give me the words to explain this properly_, Dedue thought. “No, you still misunderstand. He is the reason I am alive. I owe him everything, but he is my king. We are not equal. We—”

“Yes, yes, he is the sun and you a small flower. Young people these days, thinking they are the first to experience love. Now come, Dedue. I want you to help carry my dinner. These old bones aren’t what they used to be!” Kamya shooed him out of the cottage and made a beeline for the cooking pits, giving him not another moment to explain that he was in love with Dimitri but that Dimitri would never be in love with him.

Plus One.

Dimitri didn’t come off as very subtle to most. He really embodied the term _bold as brass_ and never hesitated to display his emotions. This was the man who cried out of happiness at Mercedes and Annette’s wedding, who once threw a priceless golden goblet at an emissary who was being rude to Dedue, and who still terrorized the training grounds on a regular basis. 

But there were small tells that Dedue felt privileged to see. Now, for instance, he could tell from the way Dimitri's good eye kept flicking back and forth that he was nervous. 

Dedue reached out, one hand still on his horse’s reins. “My lord, do not worry. We will reach there soon, well before dark. Besides, this area is very safe. Even during the war, there were few attacks whether they be bandits or the enemy.” 

Dimitri coughed nervously. Now that he turned his head, though, he could see the offered hand and took it. His hand shook. “I thank you for the information, my dear, but I think you misunderstand. I… I am nervous for other reasons.” 

“You have nothing to fear, my lord. They know that you do not hold what happened against Duscur, that you are the loudest voice in Faerghus to support our independence.” Dedue offered Dimitri a smile. “They will love you as any citizen loves their king, even as they petition for independence.” 

“I… I worry that they will judge me in a different light,” Dimitri confessed. “They are not just people of Duscur — people whom I have failed — but… They are the people who rescued you, Dedue. And I owe them more than the entire wealth of Faerghus.” Dimitri stated this as some would call the weather cold or food hot. Dedue, as always, found himself entirely consumed by the intensity of Dimitri’s gaze. 

Dimitri didn’t need to shout his love from the rooftops of Fhirdiad for Dedue to know how he felt. That didn’t shop Dimitri from doing just that anyways.

Or, well, announcing his feelings while the two of them were on horseback through the mountain paths. Close enough. 

“They only want to meet you,” Dedue reassured him. “Though Reza and her wife, Sadya, may ask you many questions. And Armad might try to challenge you to a duel. I think I told him too many stories of Felix. But do not worry about Kamya, she is all bark and no bite.” 

“I just hope that their understanding of the Fódlan speech is better than my knowledge of theirs,” Dimitri murmured. 

“They are, for the most part, fluent in both. It is simply a wish to preserve our culture that they continue to use Duscur.” Dedue shrugged. “Really, I am the one who should be concerned. You are a foreigner. If I mistake the words for apple and the word for nipple, it is never forgotten.” 

Dimitri snorted. Then he chuckled. Soon, the path echoed with the wonderful sound of Dimitri laughing. Even if it was a little at Dedue’s expense, even he could not begrudge Dimitri this — though he never did anything to prevent Dimitri’s happiness. Dedue smiled, satisfied that Dimitri felt safe enough to laugh. 

No, not merely satisfied. Elated. 

After a time, the two fell into casual conversation. The topic turned to their friends, the kingdom, the many duties of a king and his most loyal of followers. Even on what was officially a vacation, there was still work to be done or at least discussed. Soon enough though, like Dedue had predicted, they crested an incline. Below, not another ten minutes, was the small village that had sheltered Dedue for five years. 

They were approached by a band of warriors, all of whom relaxed when they realized Dedue was one of the visitors. 

“Dedue! You have returned! And with a friend,” Majid said, voice dropping at the end. Dedue dismounted so he could hug Majid, though what really happened was that Majid did his best to crush Dedue’s ribs while Dedue struggled to breathe. “I am so happy to see you again, and uninjured.” 

“I am glad to see you too. May the gods bless your house,” Dedue greeted. 

“And yours as well!” Majid whispered into Dedue’s ear, “I can see why you were so eager to see him again.”

The _him_, the king of Faerghus, was standing by his horse with a nervous grimace on his face. He noticed the eyes on him and gave them an awkward wave. 

“H--Hello. It is much pleasureful to be in the process of meeting you,” he said in poorly pronounced Duscur. Dedue gave him a warm smile. 

“And who is this?” Majid asked aloud, more for the sake of formality than need. He asked in Fódlan’s speech.

“This…” Dedue swallowed. “This is my Dimitri.” And there was no mistaking his intention when he said that.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr!](https://disasterfelixfraldarius.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also join us in the server! We have angst. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/xFe6zhE


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